Eremika Dump
by ern-jaeger
Summary: Various Eremika drabbles with various ratings.
1. Things You Said After You Kissed Me

**Tumblr mini-fic request with the prompt, things you said after you kissed me.  
A little alteration of the best scene in the whole manga tbh.  
Requested by heebster-blaze on tumblr. Enjoy~**

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It was like a splash of ivory on a canvas of ink, permanently inscribed behind his eyes. Joining the few memories he could never forget no matter how hard he tried, for once it was something he wouldn't mind playing over and over again in his head.

It was a sweet moment in the midst of the chaos ensuing around them. Soldiers were dying in every direction surrounding their place on the grass in the middle of nowhere. Death was such a terrible taste. Each and every time was worse than the previous, and yet he had still grown a sort of numbness against it—like a sting that he could feel and he knew would cause him damage, but the pain hadn't yet shown itself. So for the moment, as brief as it was, he could forget about them and carry on.

He was screaming. One name of the death plague stood out among the rest. To this day, if he thought about it enough, Eren could still hear the bones crunching. Just like that, bravery proved meaningless in a fight that couldn't be won; snatched away in a fraction of a second with a wide set of teeth.

They were all so weak. Mikasa couldn't stand on her own two feet, Hannes lacked the skills to fight, and Armin didn't have the strength to carry Jean and run. And him? All he could do was sit there and cry, and watch someone die. More than one. Everyone he had left to care about.

His fists thrashed into the ground. What was the point of all of this suffering if they were all just going to die in the end? What was the point of screaming if it didn't accomplish anything? What was the point in standing up if he couldn't do anything?

A soft voice made his ears perk. Anything to distract him. Antyhing to take this pain away. He sat up, blood rushing in his ears, finding Mikasa smiling sadly at him. She was on the brink of crying, but he had already beaten her to it.

Mikasa was here, ready to die with him, like always by his side. He turned his head to Armin, who was already looking at him. Many unsaid things passed between them in that last moment, regret swelling in his heart. It couldn't end like this. There were so many places they had yet to see together, the three of them. They couldn't die still stripped of their freedom, something that they, and every other living being, deserved.

Mikasa called his name with a cracking voice. She hadsomething to tell him and so very little time to say it, so he gave her his full attention. It was the least he could do, after all.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't a speech of gratitude. He'd hardly thought much of himself, aside from those rare moments as a naive kid who thought he was something special because of his powers. He had no idea where they came from, much less could he control them. He'd been so stupid, so weak, so useless.

Yet he allowed himself to see himself through Mikasa's eyes, through her words. A little kid with black and white morals, outsmarting murderers and becoming one himself for the sake of helping another. A stranger. One who knew the truth to survival and once had dreams to fight alongside the soldiers he looked up to. Back then, he thought he understood. He knew people died. He knew it was ugly. But he also knew it was necessary.

She reminded him of that strict mantra he'd once told her, all those years ago. She said it was how she carried on living, that it was something she had needed and he had given it to her. In his eyes, that was just how the way things were. Everyone should have known that.

Was it really something special? Did humans really think they could survive without fighting for it?

It happened in all of a few seconds, but she relied on him. She believed in him. She truly thought there was some greatness in him, that he was strong, and that he could do something.

She had kissed him, which he accepted without much thought, other than gentle things amidst the chaos. He could feel a brief change in his mind, a different light settling around them, like the world had shifted suddenly and he was too caught up in it.

But the feeling went away as quickly as it had come. Had she kissed him in a different scenario, he may have blushed. But the gesture was enough to clear his mind, and he understood her more in that moment than he could ever remember.

Mikasa truly thought she was going to die. She even pleaded to him, simple nothings that she couldn't put into words yet he still understood. She needed his protection, his will, his strength.

It had taken him a very long time to see it, but he finally did. If she truly believed he could save her, save himself, save everyone on the brink of death around them, then maybe he could. He would. He would find a way.

"Please," she had cried, over and over. It was enough.

His fists were still healing, but he didn't care. Their current state was enough. He stood brashly, memories of his mother's scolds echoing in his ears. _Protect Mikasa for a change. Take Mikasa and run. Why won't you listen to this last request of mine?_

His heart ached with his biggest regret. He spat out a promise that he hoped made up for the six years it had taken him to honor his mother's dying words, curled up what he could of his fists, and ripped out a punch into the giant hand reaching for him.

Something in his brain snapped, like he was struck by an invisible bolt of lightning. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as his fist collided with the hot Titan skin. The only thing running through his head was the image of the Titan's carass decaying, getting ripped apart by massive hands and cannibal teeth. He wanted the beast dead. The idea consumed him raw.

The next few seconds were a blur, but after the hand recoiled from his hit, Eren stood his ground, waiting for it to attack again. It never did, for another Titan had leapt over their bodies, landing it's jaws around the shoulder blade of the Smiling Titan. The impact shoved the two monsters back several yards, their thump on the ground sending both him and Mikasa into the air a few feet.

She landed hard on her knees, crying out and getting his attention. Eren turned, the look on his face bewildered at what just happened. She clutched at her ribs, but was staring beyond him with wide eyes. He turned back to the beasts, finding even more Titans running in their direction.

The Titans that had been killing his comrades, sauntering towards those left who weren't eaten, reaching for Armin, they abandoned their prey for the other Titan. He glanced around briefly; everyone was confused, but running for the horses despite that. Eren took the opportunity to run, as well.

He turned to Mikasa and threw out his hand for her to grab, which she took immediately. Running soon proved to be an impossible task for her; she barely made it off one knee before grasping at her ribs and collapsing. Eren caught her under the arms, thinking quickly and twisting in his hold, stooping and allowing her to shift onto his back. She snaked her arms around his front and pressed her knees into his side as he stood up straight, his hands hooking under her thighs as he began to run.

Hardly any time had passed, but Armin made it to a free horse. In the distance Eren could see the blond staggering under Jean's weight to get the unconscious dumbass onto the patient steed. Connie was going after Krista, and several other nameless soldiers were scrambling for horses.

Mikasa had glanced behind them at the mess of Titans while Eren, and commented on their behavior. Why the monsters had turned on their own kind baffled him, and the connection came to mind; they were treating the Smiling Titan like an enemy, the same way he becomes a target for food whenever he transforms.

It was too odd of a coincidence. His thoughts has little time to dwell on the matter, however, as ground-shaking thumps turned his attention to Reiner's Titan in the rapidly-approaching distance.

His anger refueled, blood boiling a thousand degrees as it raced through his veins. Those fucking traitors. All of those hundreds of thousands of countless lives were bloody stains on their hands. It was _their_ fault humanity lost one third of its territory and was even closer to extinction. It was _their_ fault he lost his mother, his father, and Armin's grandfather. It was_ their_ fault Marco was dead, all those freshly graduated trainees who didn't live past their first day on the job, the entirety of Squad Levi.

How dare those assholes try and play soldiers while the people they are pretending to protect die at their hands. Eren was furious before; now he was absolutely, violently livid.

Words erupted from his mouth, tearing his throat open before he could think them, and the same feeling from earlier struck him. It was like his thoughts themselves had snapped in half, and the ends were pointing at the traitorous bastards himself. He wanted them to die.

Just as suddenly as before, the Titans that had nearly finished devouring the Smiling Titan changed course, like a silent command echoed out through the land. Only for Eren, it wasn't so silent. His brain had pulsed, like someone from the outside had squeezed it, and he could see Reiner's face being ripped apart in his head.

The Titans surrounded the Armored Titan, stopping the bastard in his tracks. They started biting into his flesh, their teeth hardly sinking into the hardened skin. There were so many of them, however, that Reiner couldn't fight all of them off.

Eren kept running, gritting his teeth. Serves him right. But something churns in his stomach as he runs. What was that? That snapping feeling, the one that happened right before the Titans attacked another one of their kind, it happened twice. Both times occurred when his mind was so full of rage he could hardly see straight. Was he the one who snapped? Did he do that?

There wasn't time to think about it at the moment. More pressing matters weighed on him, like getting to safety while they had the chance. Armin had since mounted his horse and collected another, and was galloping like a saint in their direction. He was at their side in seconds.

With a few pained grunts, Mikasa hoisted herself up onto the saddle with her hands and Eren's support. She shared a look of quick relief with Armin while Eren followed her up, taking the front and handling the reigns.

He waited until Mikasa's arms were secure before racing off in the opposite direction, heading for the other escaping soldiers fleeing to Wall Rose. Armin kept his horse close to them, racing side by side away from the blood pool of Titans. The sounds that echoed behind him were hellish in nature and Eren was sure he wouldn't ever be able to erase them from memory.

He'd never ridden a horse this fast before. But he knew they had to get away, put as much distance between themselves and the Titans as they could and as fast as possible.

They were too distracted for conversation. Once the entire group of soldiers were far enough away for most everyone's comfort, a few of the squad leaders began ordering directions—mostly for those in the Military Police, instructions for the classic formation used by the Survey Corps. Rather than spreading out the soldiers thinly, small groups of two or three horses were formed, for safety purposes and due to many riders donning one of the injured on their backs.

They were assigned to the right flank, closer to the center. They were luckier than others, due to Eren's value and refusal to ride anywhere without Armin. So they stayed close together, if only a couple yards away. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Jean was starting to regain consciousness. Armin was fading in and out of deep thought; it was all he could do to follow Eren's path and keep up.

Mikasa was surviving, albiet barely. He could feel the tension in her muscles with every gallop, every bump shook her and rattled her bones. Her front was practically glued to his back, making breathing a little more than difficult. Her forehead pressed into his shoulder, leaving the cloth damp with her sweat. Not that he minded in the slightest. If it helped ease the pain even a little, he was glad to suffer through it with her. She had no choice, anyway.

Now that danger was no longer an emminent threat and their lives weren't flashing before their eyes, the adrenaline was wearing off. He could feel his body's exhaustion catching up with him. A lot had happened that day. Not only was it physically taxing, but it was emotional as well. He felt like he would pass out if he wasn't careful.

At some point, Mikasa did. Her grip laxed and her hands dropped to his lap, and for a fleeting moment he feared she was about to fall over. She didn't, but he latched his fingers around her wrists anyway, ensaring them to ensure she wouldn't slip off.

He wondered vaguely how bad the pain must have been for her to blackout. She was tough when it came to pain tolerance; not as much as himself, but enough to impress him. Most of the times she was ruthless. During a spar between her and Connie that had accidentally gone too far, Mikasa had taken a knife through the upper arm but still managed to knock the midget out cold with a swift high kick to the jaw. The cut was deep but she hardly paid any mind to it. A real, true, and strong soldier, some would say.

Very stark in contrast to just minutes before, when she thought her life was over. When she cried out to him, thanking him for his strength and will and begging for him to save the day like the hero she believed he was. When she kissed him.

He wondered, idly, if things would be different when they returned to the wall, to true safety. When they could take the time to remember what happened, when they would be questioned for the official reports, when he found a doctor to tend to her injury.

What would she say to him, knowing she kissed him? Had she really meant to? Were there feelings buried down that she never had the courage to say to him? Was she simply caught up in the moment, or was she trying to give him the boost he needed? Would she be embarassed and pretend it didn't happen?

Question after question; it was like a blizzard in his mind. And he was far too tired for questions.

They reached the base of the wall in under an hour. The formation had only come across a few ordinary Titans that the veterns took care of with ease. They didn't bother setting a course for the gate of Karanese; the Garrison was ready with the lifts and medics and back up soldiers to give them cover while the survivors were pulled to the top.

Eren was one of the first to be lifted. He had dismounted after stirring Mikasa awake, standing beside the horse to keep it still while they ascended. Though conscious, she kept her eyes closed, the immense pain from the hour-long ride on horseback still lingering in her abdomen, even if she had been unconscious for most of it. It was obvious in her face, how her eyes seemed more sunken in than normal. She looked like she was about to cry.

For her support and his, he kept an arm wrapped around her backside, hand resting on her thigh, the other gripping the reigns. She peeled it of her leg and took his grip in her own, squeezing for an outlet. He squeezed back, wishing there was more he could do.

Neither of them spoke until they were at the top. Eren steered the horse away from the edge to make room for the others that arrived on their own lifts. To his bewildered surprise, Mikasa, who had started swaying from side to side, tried to dismount, but he stopped her.

"Don't even try standing," he warned. She knew damn well she would only cause herself more hurting. She nodded softly, fighting off unconsciousness, and accepting her weakness that she loathed. She allowed him to lift her off the horse carefully, balancing her weight on his arms without disturbing her injury.

He found a medic quickly, and a stretcher was made ready for her. She said nothing as he lowered her onto the cotton, closing her eyes while he removed the scarf from her neck and folded it neatly to tuck it under her head. As his hands worked with the short task, the doctor questioned him a little about her injuries. His voice was monotone, he noticed, deprived of any emotion. Not even sadness.

Satisfied with Eren's explanation, the medic stood and searched for an assistant and a spare wagon to prepare for the injured, leaving the two of them alone.

Mikasa was the first to say something. She apologized. So stupid. When he asked why, she simply said it was because she didn't protect him.

Of course, he brushed it off. It wasn't always her job to do the protecting. In fact, he should have been the one apologizing. It had taken far too long for him to return the favor, after all.

Eren didn't know if he could explain it to her, but perhaps she knew, deep down. That was just the way the two of them worked. They were always looking out for each other, and even if he hadn't shown it very often, even if it was difficult to remember in the hellish lives they lived, even if it took a simple kiss to remind him, he'd promised her something that had already gone unsaid between them since the day they met.

They would always be together, no matter what. And he couldn't forget it if he tried, nor did he mind that fact.


	2. Instances

**Inspired by otpprompts on tumblr. Prompt stated at the bottom A/N to not spoil anything.**

**Written in two hours or so to The Album Leaf's Window, recommended to listen to this song while reading to understand the mood. **

**I'm sorry I wrote this.**

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Everything always happens in instances. Blinks of an eye shut out the smallest of moments, be they tedious nothings or crucial wonders that can go unseen by one yet etched into perfect memory by another. Let the mind wander and even the slightest miscalculation can offset everything.

Just like that, she falls. One instant she is soaring, eyes seeking out her path and hands acting accordingly. In the next, one false movement of her wrist sends her crashing. She counts—more like remembers—the impact of her body crushing into something a handful of times, momentum catching up to her like a clap on the back knocks the wind out one's lungs.

When she finally stops moving, resting on something wet, she can't breathe. There is a bell chiming, echoing in monotone melody through the trees and in between branches and rustling the pines until it slowly fades, coming to a soft rest somewhere in the back of her mind.

Everything is dark, for a long time. Maybe it's only seconds. She can't tell, now that everything is spinning and there is dirt in her eyes. Thin fingers dig half-moons into the dirt and she tries to raise herself onto her arms.

Get up, she says. It's not safe on the ground. Get up, back to safety, back to the group.

Her brain is screaming directions that her body does not comprehend. She struggles to see in front of her, and she's pretty sure there is blood in her mouth.

One instant, everything is foggy and gray, like she's halfway into a dream she never wants to leave. It ends in a fraction of time, when an arm gives out beneath a dislocated shoulder and half of her body is on fire.

She falls onto her side, clutching at the source of the pain. Everything is in focus now, too focused. The bell has returned with an awful ring and this time she can't hear anything else above it. The seconds crawl by where she lays, stunned and breathless, on her injury, until common sense kicks in and she uses a leg to push herself onto her back.

Finally her throat cries out, with both relief and anguish. Each second that passes the groan intensifies along with the pain. Quickly she realizes that it's not just her shoulder that hurts, it's the entire right side of her body. She wonders just how many bones are broken. She wonders what had happened in that single second that threw her off course and sent her to a heap on the ground.

Time only exists in fractions now. She doesn't know how long she's been laying there, but the sky is considerably darker than it was just moments ago. She can no longer see a darkening blue dotting the green canopy; it's morphed into an orange that runs along with a dancing black, the color of her bangs that lie on her face, caked with sweat.

By that point, she's also realized that she is bleeding from her side. Medical training insists that she turn over to apply pressure, but fear keeps her paralyzed on her back. She knows it's too much to handle; maybe somebody will find her soon. She wasn't too far off from the group, so her absence was surely noticed by now and they were looking for her.

It wouldn't be much longer.

The sky grows darker too quickly for her comfort, and she can feel the temperature dropping. Her breath comes out in little clouds, barely visible and gone too quickly for her to trace the shapes out with flickering eyes. Short instances too quick to remember.

Everything happens too fast. There is too much to see, too much beauty to miss and become forgotten, lost in the cycle of life.

The ringing has stopped awhile ago, but she doesn't notice until she hears the crackling of boots over twigs and rubble. Sounds of a fire burning corpses into ashes, slow yet steady, strong and warm like the sound of a voice calling her name.

"Mikasa," he says, bringing tears to her eyes. Relief spreads through her viens, through her nerves and her heart and into the places on her body that have become numb yet still cry with agony.

He drops to his knees, staining the white fabric with scarlet mud. The heavy breaths from his lungs keep a different pace from hers—long, drawn, steady and strong; hers are quick and feeble, so she focuses on matching his.

"You're bleeding," he says. Her throat is too cold and too dry for speech, so she nods instead. "Why don't you apply pressure?" She has no answer. She has been waiting for help and she can't move. Her nerves are dead and don't respond while they thrive with anguish to keep her conscious.

His hand, precautious and slow, grabs a hold of her waist and tugs gently. Her breathing fluctuates in fear, but she lets him move her body and tries to surpress her panic. She knows this is best for her injury, her best chance of survival.

He is wearing his harness but his gear is missing. Somewhere beyond the light must be the horse, awaiting its rider and injured cargo. She wonders how he found her lying here, when it will be safe to move her body, when the others will come.

On her side, despite the extreme discomfort, she finds the strength to speak.

"Where were you?" she stutters in between breaths, wetting her lips with a dry tongue. It's harder to meet his eyes from this angle, but the sadness he looks down at her with is unmistakable.

He doesn't answer her. Instead his hand leaves her waist to brush through her matted hair, forming a half-smile in apology. Sorry he wasn't there. Sorry it took him so long. Sorry he couldn't help her sooner.

"Where are the others?" she says, more in a whisper than anything.

"Looking for you," he answers calmly. While he pets her hair, the other hand takes a hold of her limp one, lying lifelessly on the ground. She wonders if it will ever move again. She can't feel anything of his grip except for the heat of his skin, and even then she's pretty sure it's imaginary.

She's cold, and he can tell. He's only wearing a shirt, no cloak, so there's nothing he can offer her. She already has his token wrapped around her neck. He settles for adjusting it, tightening it over her skin and pulling it up over her chin the way she likes to do when she's alone.

"Eren," she says, testing out the sound of his name. It brings her comfort, even if he is right here.

"Mikasa," is his reply, sturdy and strong like she remembers him always being, but hidden within that is brokenness. He tries to hide it from her, tries to keep her heart as warm as possible until it's too cold to beat.

She can see it, lining his eyes, crinkling in his brows, clenching in his jaw. The light is fading, a light he doesn't carry with him. Suddenly her breathing is even, and her chest doesn't feel so heavy.

"Will you cry?" she asks, whispering to the night. He shakes his head.

"I already have," he says. Strong, gentle, heavy, broken. Like he's missing something crucial and cannot figure it out, despite the answer lying in front of him and dying. "Will you?"

The tables have turned in an instant, and suddenly she's the one kneeling before a broken body that cannot heal itself. It's a fleeting memory, lurking on the darker, colder side of her mind. She shuts her eyes in desperation, cutting off the thought before it grew into something she can't ignore.

"I can't," she pants, her lungs working faster and faster as she becomes colder and colder. "I already have."

"Then what are you waiting for?" he asks, like he's begging. She feels the faintest of brushes on her cheek all the way down to her jaw, coupled with the barely-there pressure of lips on her temple. Then the warmth of his hand disappears. Her eyes open, and the light is gone.

It was never there to begin with, she realizes, breath hitching in her throat. It was all in her imagination, she was all alone. The thought struck her down like lightning.

That's right. She remembers. He couldn't have been there. He was gone.

The floodgates of panic open and she is scrambling to her feet, nerves screaming at her like peircing blades. What was she waiting for? She had to get off the ground. It was unsafe. She was going to die.

She makes three steps before crumbling to her knees. He would want her to be safe. He would want her to get to safety, to survive. She had to fight through the pain to survive. He taught her that long ago.

The ground begins to thump with the unmistakable footsteps of a giant. His words repeat in her mind over and over and she refuses to forget them or the person who spoke them. She lets go of her shoulder and lets it flop, all Hell breaking loose in her body but she doesn't care. Her hand flashes to her weapon, damp eyes scavenging the all-but-pitch canopy until she finds a branch to target. In seconds her feet leave the ground and she is left dangling in the air.

Now she remembers why she fell.

She sees him in every place she can still see color. His eyes watch her from the ferns and the leaves, and he smiles down from the bright crescent that rests in ink. His heart laces around her neck, keeping her close and unforgotten.

Her hand works by itself, instinct taking over while she dreams. In some corner of abandoned thought she is tying a knot around the branch she hangs from, teeth working in unison with her single arm. Everything else is in reverse, taking her back through memories behind her eyes and controlling her senses, returning her to a time when she didn't have the scarf that kept her so grounded.

Back then, everything happened in instances, too quick for her to keep up with. One minute she is spending a quiet afternoon with her parents, and the next she is an orphan watching a little boy getting strangled with a knife in her hands and she is trembling and she is cold and she is alone.

But he is there. He's alive in her dreams, smiling and crying and shouting and swearing and laughing and picking fights and persevering and cheering her on when she falters, holding her at night when she finds his lack of presence unbearable.

He is there in the sunlight that beats down on the grass they used to sit on, warming her hair like a hand running through it countless times, in comforting gestures and scolds to cut it.

He is there in the sound of her name, an echoic memory. In the folds of her clothes, the smaller ones that used to belong to him. He's the hands she uses to guide a horse, to travel three-dimensionally, to eat, to work, to comfort a friend. He's the shadows that stand guard in the night, the dancing glow in lanterns to light her path.

Even in the dark, he's burning in her heart, like a charcoal kept aflame by her will. It's how her eyes make sure her hand doesn't make the wrong move; perhaps it's his undiluted guidance keeping her alive for the moment.

And like every other moment, this one comes to an end, quickly and without patience, no time to mourn and reminisce.

It starts and ends with her grip on the fabric, pulling herself up and getting pulled away by merciless, giant fingers wrapped around her legs. In his words she still struggles to live, kicking and thrashing and reaching for her lifeline.

And just like the cycle of life dictates, her fingers slip. She is cruelly ripped from her last tie to him, but there is beauty in the red as it loosens, fluttering in the wind beyond the reaches of her fingers.

It's the same as the boy who removed it from his neck and wrapped it around her own. In one instant they are together, fighting for survival and warmth in each other, and the next they are gone, like whispers in the wind and crackling fires rising to burn the dead.

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**Prompt: "Person A is dying a slow death all alone (either from an accident or inflicted by another person). Person B shows up and they have a very calm conversation. Right before Person A dies, they reach out to touch person B, but their hand goes through them. Person B was only a hallucination."**

**I may update this A/N later to include my thoughts when it came to writing this, but write now I don't have the energy or patience. Despite all that, this is one of my more favored things I have written. **

**Also, it might be updated with an alternate ending. We'll see.**


	3. Sleepless

**For the SNKArtist's Big Bang challenge. I collaborated with gay-theprayaway (on tumblr) to create this piece of crap. Please don't hate us.**

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It was always painfully obvious how different they were. They came from different races, hers the rarer and leaving her fair-skinned, white as a sheep compared to the rest of them. Especially him, with his tan complexion and loud mouth that kept him visible in a crowd. She was the quiet one, who could raise her voice when necessary and kept small talk to a minimum.

She was an expert at masking anxiety–at least to the others. The two pairs of eyes that had watched her for years could tell when nerves were flaring despite her best efforts to appear composed. He, on the other hand, was much more vocal with his emotions, unafraid to pick a fight if someone crossed him at the wrong time, on the wrong day.

The list of differences between the two of them was endless, but their similarities made up for it and then some.

In a team structure, they were an inseparable combination. She was the talent, he was the determination. Both were strong individually, but together they could accomplish nearly anything—and that's without adding their genius friend into the mix.

Communication was key. Mikasa had a way with words that was incomparable. She could tell what he was thinking with one glance at him, and she always knew exactly what to say in any situation. Eren was the listener, ears always open, although some things were harder to accept than others. Despite that she could tell him anything, and with or without words he would still understand.

He remembered a time where he once admired his superiors' ability to fight without speaking, and here he was now, with a partner of his own to read his moves and match them in the blink of an eye.

They flashed forward through the trees in unison, following each others' paths. She carved through flesh like she was born to do it, while he led them on to their destination. It was a hunt. A chase, rather. It had all come down to this upcoming battle, the weight was on his shoulders, and Mikasa was with him to fight it until the end.

The Corps managed to capture Berthold, by some miracle. Reiner had escaped the trap and the two of them were hot on his trail, followed closely by the rest of the squad.

The brawny blond was crafty, and very desperate. Eren didn't know how and couldn't explain it if he tried, but he knew exactly where to find him. Almost like he could see his location on a radar, and even more faint was the sense that he could control him. If only he just knew how.

Mikasa didn't second-guess his whim. Instead she followed him loyally into the horde of Titans, keeping close behind and sweeping forward to slice through another when he got too close for her comfort. And he trusted her and her abilities enough to let her do as she pleased.

That was how they worked. Trust was the foundation of their relationship and without it they would fall apart. If they couldn't trust in each other, who else was there?

By now they were practically on top of Reiner. Eren could feel it somehow, inexplicably, but he was positive of it. When he could, he looked over his shoulder at Mikasa, who was soaring just a couple meters above him.

Her instincts were keen, perhaps even more so than his. Just as he looked at her she found his eyes, and in them she found several emotions and thoughts, but one stood out above all. Eren watched as her eyes narrowed with a furrowed brow to match his, words passing between them, her lips creasing in preparation as she nodded.

This was it. They were going to kill Reiner. They were so close now that the traitor was within eyesight, a gray cloak whipping out from behind him as he raced from them, keeping dangerously low to the horde of hands clawing at the three of them.

There was hardly a plan involved but even so it wasn't necessary. Mikasa was the combat and maneuver gear expert, and Eren was going to be the backup if she couldn't subdue him on her own. The last thing they wanted was for him to transform, but if Reiner was pushed into that corner then he was going to have to follow.

Although he trusted her with every grain of his being, Eren still found himself holding his breath in as he watched Mikasa fly forward, tearing through the masses and leaving behind a bloody mess of steaming entrails. He kept his distance as she had warned with her eyes, lifting himself higher into the trees to have an edge if he needed to step in.

Neither of them thought it would be necessary. Mikasa was fast–not as fast as their captain, but she was a blur to the eye. He could barely follow her movements in the dark canopy of branches and the shade of an onsetting evening, if it weren't for the streak of red wound securely around her neck. She didn't seem to tire either, arms striking down Titans one after another like it was easy.

Soon enough there were no more obstacles between her and Reiner. She'd sped up to him easily even as he caught wind of her, eyes widening as he found hers glaring at him over his shoulder. Her arms were poised, ready to swing, and all the fury she had once contained spiraled back into her and seethed into liquid, fiery onyx.

Then her arms moved, and multiple things happened at once.

Eren, and evidently Reiner, judging by the way he curled himself in to protect his neck from her aim, expected her to end it in one swing. Instead she got a foothold on him, abandoned a blade and gripped the other with both hands, then shoved it through the nape of his neck and out the other side.

Even from this distance, Eren could hear the gurgling of blood in his throat. It was gruesome, yet entirely, grotesquely satisfying. He could never forget the sound, no matter how many times he relived this moment in his head.

Milliseconds passed while Mikasa struggled to move the blade, attempting to slice it through the base of his neck, but his skin was tougher than she anticipated. Even if he was stunned, Reiner's hand flew to her wrists and cupped them, his strength outmatching hers by a landslide.

It was time for him to intervene, but he realized this just a half a second too late. Mikasa had been one step ahead of their enemy until then, and she, too, realized what was happening once the two of them started to decline.

Her head whipped around to find Eren changing his course, soaring in her direction with panic in his eyes. Thoughts running a mile a minute, she struggled with Reiner and sunk lower into the dark bottom of the forest where countless Titans lurked, awaiting them.

All three of them were very aware of the two possible outcomes. Reiner had given him a choice. And the few seconds Eren had to make his decision were long enough to last an entire lifetime.

Her eyes were the key, the thing that ultimately convinced him. He knew that he would hate himself less this way. She was the one who chose.

She was gone in the next second. Both of them. They had disappeared into the underbrush while he continued onward, awaiting a flash of light.

He felt numb. There was nothing. There was wind in his ears and an unrelenting wetness in his eyes, but he couldn't see anything. He didn't feel hot or cold, asleep or awake. There was nothing. Until there was a ripping sensation and the light from torches, with endless yelling pounding a headache into him.

Someone pulled him from his deeply-rooted spot in his Titan, steam arising all around. Gentle but tough hands yanked on his torso, screaming his name at him. It felt like a dream. Everything was fuzzy, and yet he felt like he was cringing. Like his entire body was writhing in pain, but he was limp.

Something was horribly wrong. He could feel it in his bones. His memory was blank.

His eyes were wide open but he couldn't see anything. Until suddenly he could see everything, like someone had poured a bucket of water over his head and removed a blindfold. He bolted upright, easily freeing himself from the pair of arms trying to hold him down.

Familiar voices were screaming at him, calling his name, but one of them was missing. Something told him that something was very, deeply wrong. He made a mistake.

He was on his feet, tearing through the groups of soldiers in the area, eyes red and steam floating in wisps off his skin. His feet carried him in an unknown direction but somehow, almost as if he knew somewhere in the depths of his guilty conscience, he found what he was looking for.

On the ground, broken and breathing bare, she lied staring up at nothing. Every muscle in his body was tying in endless knots, but a strange gentleness overcame him. He collapsed on his knees and leaned over her silently, holding in his breath.

She was in pain. A lot of pain. It was evident by the glossy sheen painted on her widened eyes and the damp scarlet all over her clothes. He couldn't hold himself back from touching her, reaching around her and pulling her into his lap, hunched over her as if he could give her some sort of protection from the inevitable. He moved her slowly, like she was cracked glass.

Her breaths were shallow and hardly there, and she was as stiff as the trees closing in on them. But for a moment, one long and breathless minute, she relaxed. He was always warm, even when his heart had gone as cold as her skin.

She couldn't speak, and neither could he. It wasn't necessary. Her breaths continued to thin, and eventually, sooner than he'd like to remember, they ceased altogether, and she was still.

Her body was limp, like delicate, bloody string lying twisted in his arms. He couldn't let her go but he couldn't bear to keep holding her, either. His thoughts raced through a mind numb to emotions. He couldn't remember her name, and barely recognized the face when he finally laid her on the ground where he had found her.

Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he found the wrong corpse, and maybe she was still out there somewhere.

His quivering fingers traced her skin, searching for an answer. His breaths were as irregular as his heartbeat and there were tears obscuring his vision. But with a touch of familiar, worn fabric, he knew. With a quick tugging on the red, he tightened it, and then backed up.

This was wrong. This couldn't be real. He was stumbling over feet and tripping and then he was caught by a pair of arms flying around him, gripping him by the waist as he writhed. Then a second, and a third pair, and for a moment he was stilled.

Out of nowhere, he started to scream. Beyond the hurt cries of those who grieve, but deep, inhuman roars from inside his stomach that clawed his throat raw and made his jaw ache.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear anything except for his bellows. His chest felt tight and contracted and he felt knives twisting within his torso, tearing him up like the napes of necks relentlessly. It wouldn't stop. He had been stabbed through the chest and he'd had the shit beaten out of him and he had been on the brink of death countless times, endured so much pain and suffering and none of that even came close to the tidals of agony that crashed through him, leaving him scarred and breathless and violently trembling and empty.

Time had stopped, and he had no idea how long it had been until someone finally snapped him out of his nightmare.

"You bastard!" Jean shrieked, striking him in the gut with a raging punch that sent him stumbling on his feet. "How could you let this happen?"

Someone else intervened, shoving Jean back and pulling him away while Eren broke free and soared forward with a flying fist of his own, his rage doubling. Whoever was holding him back grasped at his arms again, yanking him back and struggling to hold him.

"You let her die!" He yelled, his voice carrying the distance easily in the night.

"Fuck you!" Eren garbled, somehow forming the words with a numb mouth and dry lips. He continued to struggle, limbs flying and body writhing to break free.

"Get ahold of yourself," said a stern voice dripping with hidden emotion. The short man stood in front of Eren, blocking the view to the body, then turned his head over his shoulder. "And somebody cover that up, for fuck's sake."

A sheet was retrieved on his request, while Eren's legs wobbled, unable to hold himself up anymore. He fell to his knees, and Armin let go to kneel beside him. The other two that had been holding him back released him, but stayed close.

He sat in silent agony for the longest time. The aching didn't fade, not even in the slightest. If anything it grew stronger, and more unbearable. He couldn't think of words to say, couldn't find his voice, so he continued to weep until his eyes ran dry.

The commander arrived on the scene shortly after, inspecting the damage.

The operation was deemed successful, with less-than-expected casualties. Even so, the loss was a hard blow to all those involved. Especially one in particular, of which he was informed as he did his rounds. A soldier handed him a keepsake to deliver while the troops prepared to evacuate back to the wall.

Erwin knelt in front of Eren and Armin, who hadn't moved even long after the body was moved. They both looked up with sad eyes and stained faces, Armin finding the strength to speak up and greet their commander, who nodded at him silently and cleared his throat.

"Thanks to you, Eren," Erwin began, picking his words carefully, "this plan was a success. We eliminated two of our biggest threats, which is an incomprehensible step forward. Never in my lifetime would I have believed humanity could have accomplished such a feat, and it's all because of your difficult sacrifice. You have my deepest thanks, respect, and admiration."

Eren cringed with his words, and his eyes found a new source for tears.

"This is for you." Cautiously, with his lone arm, Erwin held out a bundle of red, stained with dirt and dried blood. "I was told it was hers."

A long moment passed. Eren just stared at it blankly, so Armin took action and reached for it, cradling it gently in his lap and swallowing a lump in his throat.

"Th-thank you," he quivered, whose eyes couldn't leave the fabric in his hands.

"It was mine," Eren said suddenly, noticably disturbed and eyes on the ground. His voice shook in waves. "I gave it to her. When we met."

"She was always wearing it whenever I saw her," Erwin said quietly. "You must have been very important to her if she kept it all this time."

"…Yeah," Eren whispered with stuttering breath and wide eyes. "I was."

"We're preparing to leave immediately," Erwin said, "so you two should get back to your squad captain. I'll help you stand." And just like that, they were forced to face reality.

The first several footsteps were the hardest. Armin was weak on his feet while Eren could barely feel his legs. They leaned on each other, not speaking, and found their way to a cart.

Burning the bodies was the part he would never get used to. No matter how many soldiers that died, no matter how many bonfires they lit, no matter how many headstones lined the memorial grounds, it didn't get any easier. He could walk through the ritual a thousand times and still hesitate, wanting to save just another moment to remember the deceased before discarding them and moving on.

Despite how numb he felt, there was always the sting. It just seemed to make him even more indifferent to feeling, like it couldn't exist anymore.

He couldn't pick her body bag out from the rest of the pile, but he prefered it that way. It was easier to just think of it as another log for the fire, one who had shown bravery and skill and had strengthened his resolve numerous times, but had finally come to her end, as they were all destined to.

What would it be like when he died? Would it be Armin standing here, hands in fists and scarf heavy as it draped around his neck? Or would he be the last of the three, standing here for a second time with twice the ice in his chest?

When they burned his body, would he even feel it? Or would the body try to repair itself, regenerating each part as it burned away, a constant refusal to disappear that was as stubborn as the spirit who lived in it?

Or would his body disintegrate on its own, fading from the world and pretending to have never existed in the first place? It was no different from burning a corpse. They were just erasing the memory of one who used to live.

When the torch touched the bottom of the pile, Eren's breaths caught like glue. He felt like suffocating, like the red around his throat was too tight.

He couldn't stop reliving that moment. They could burn her body a hundred times and he would never forget her eyes, the stories they told. She was like an angel, bright and selfless and forever loyal to him. He couldn't ignore the last look she gave him, or the weight in his heart as he let her fall to her demise.

With a bitter choke, Eren swallowed the lump in his throat. He had wondered what kind of inhumanity Reiner had to posses in order to leave Berthold behind, how much pain the brawny blond had to endure to make the decision in as quick of a heartbeat to abandon the person he trusted the most in this world. Then realized that he, himself, was also that kind of monster.


End file.
